


As We Both Shall Live

by hostilovi



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Freeform, Immortality, M/M, Reincarnation, Temporary Character Death, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:07:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4621290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostilovi/pseuds/hostilovi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had never asked Kiyoshi if he loved him. It was too blunt, maybe, or just too simple a word for two people who were bound so inextricably.</p>
<p>When you had forever, even just pieces of forever, perhaps love did not mean much of anything either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As We Both Shall Live

Immortal did not mean patient.

He learned that quickly, after coming home to a seething Kiyoshi who pounced on him, demanding to know how the new coffee pot worked. And too, when he got in one of his moods and sent text after text after text. _Where are you. When are you coming home._ More mysteriously, _don’t forget._

Never anything else, just “don’t forget”. It had an ominous ring to it. Familiar.

Immortal did not mean infallible or invincible. Kuroko learned that one more slowly.

He paid homage to the bruises and scrapes of his daily life, and took his time mapping out the old scars. Sometimes Kiyoshi would give him a story to remember it by—the thin one down the length of his thumb from a knife-throwing contest, the half-moon slash low on his left hip from his first real battle. The jagged one on his back he had two stories for, depending on how he felt. A lover’s quarrel or a punishment he had deserved.

Kuroko couldn’t decide which story was more true. Both made Kiyoshi’s eyes sad, so Kuroko never lingered there long.

“You need to be more careful,” Kuroko told him wearily, carefully inspecting the mildly swollen bruise forming on his forehead. Kiyoshi smiled up at him, looking sheepish and charming as he pressed his face subtly into Kuroko’s touch.

“I know, sorry. Your ceiling is too low for me.”

The ceiling was normal. Kiyoshi was just too big.

Everything about him was large, somehow more _alive_ and _present_ in a very tangible way, managing to fill an entire room with his presence alone. Kuroko drowned in him.

“Well, it doesn’t look too bad. It’s not bleeding.” Kuroko traced the tiny scar on his right temple—a mishap on the training field—and pulled away, holding up his fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Five.”

“Wrong.”

Kiyoshi laughed. “You’ve got two behind your back, Kuroko. Can’t fool me that easily. Not when I’m the one who knows you best.” He reached for him and Kuroko let Kiyoshi drag him forward, willingly bent when he pulled, let those startlingly large hands slid up the back of his shirt. Warm. Always warm.

“Willing to bet on that?” Kuroko asked lightly, even though his heart was beating faster.

“I’ll bet my life on it.” Kiyoshi’s voice was soft, so soft, gaze lidded. His voice was light but there was something darker beneath.

“It doesn’t mean much when you can’t die.”

“Yours, then.” His fingers pressed into the dimples of Kuroko’s back and he tilted his face up expectantly. “We can bet yours.”

Kuroko wasn’t certain how much his own life was worth. Astoundingly little, he would imagine, to most people. Not so, with Kiyoshi. He bent down just a little further, their lips moving in a familiar dance. Kiyoshi opened his mouth to him at once with a sigh that tasted faintly of coffee and candy.

Not bittersweet. Simply bitter and sweet by turns.

Kuroko pulled away sooner than Kiyoshi wanted, judging from the small, disappointed noise he made.

“Be more careful of your head.”

“Kuroko,” he said, despairingly fond. “I _do_ try.”

 

 

 

 

 

“We could always move somewhere with higher ceilings,” Kiyoshi said later, in the darkness of their bedroom. A thin sliver of the waxing moon fell in a pale slash across him, like it was a physical weight. Kuroko found the thought strangely disturbing , found himself unnerved by how the moonlight split his hand from his arm.

He curled his fingers around Kiyoshi’s wrist, blocking the moon from his skin. _There. Take me instead._

“I like it here. This place is ours.”

Kiyoshi murmured something about being at home as long as they were together, but Kuroko was only half-listening. He instead thought of how no matter how high the ceiling was, it could never possibly hope to contain the improbable beauty that was Kiyoshi.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kuroko dreamed. Sometimes good things, more often bad.

Kiyoshi didn’t need a reminder of memories that were permanently etched in his mind—stuck there for all eternity, just as Kiyoshi was stuck upon the Earth. So Kuroko kept them to himself, as much as possible, tried to muddle through it on his own. Tried to figure out which piece went to which story.

_Don’t forget, don’t forget._

Kuroko feared whatever it was he was meant to remember was long lost, a matchstick floating in the ocean, drifting farther and farther away. Eventually it might sink below the surface, like the rest of his memories—the oldest ones patrolling the deep dark, the newer sometimes breaking loose, scales shimmering.

Were the stories really his if he could only remember them in broken, ephemeral pieces? As soon as he held them, they crumbled in his hands like paper from an ancient world

_Don’t forget._

More than clarity, Kuroko wanted the dreams to leave him in peace.

“I made coffee,” Kiyoshi said, after Kuroko gave up on sleep for the night and dragged himself from the bedroom. He didn’t look up from the book he was reading by the single, lonely light of the lamp.

“You know I don’t drink it.”

Kuroko settled in the space Kiyoshi made between his legs, sprawling comfortably on his broad chest. The steady beat of his heart beneath his ear was a comfort. The world would one day end and Kiyoshi would go on _being._ He liked that thought.

“You used to.” Kiyoshi switched the book to one hand so he could drape his arm around Kuroko, his thumb idly rubbing at the strip of bare skin from Kuroko’s shirt riding up.

“When?”

He hummed thoughtfully, eyes drifting closed. “Last cycle. The one before that, too.”

Kuroko didn’t remember ever drinking coffee, but the smell of it was nice. It made him think of home. The idea of home, at least, which made him think of Kiyoshi.

“You should sleep, Kuroko,” Kiyoshi said softly, eyes opening and regarding him with such gentleness that Kuroko’s whole body thrummed with it. In this light, Kuroko could see a glimpse of the thing that made him not-human; a glint of something hard and ancient. And adoring. Kiyoshi’s lips curved in a questioning smile at his continued stare.

“Read to me?”

“You won’t know the words.”

“I don’t mind.”

It was his _voice_ Kuroko wanted. The language, the words were inconsequential. Kiyoshi craned his neck awkwardly to press a kiss to the top of Kuroko’s head, then turned a page and began to read, his voice low and soft, the language unfamiliar and melodic, trilling in strange places.

Kuroko never did fall back asleep, but it was there he felt safest—with Kiyoshi, in the hours of the day that were neither late nor early.

 

 

 

 

 

 

If there were more people like him, Kiyoshi refused to say. The closest he got to a straight answer was Kiyoshi saying that he couldn’t know for sure.

“What about people like me?” Kuroko asked once.

The question made Kiyoshi freeze up, and when he finally spoke, his voice was cold and hard and alien.

“No,” was all he said. “It’s only you.”

Kuroko never asked again.

But he thought that perhaps his own existence was more lonely and more wrong than Kiyoshi’s. Kiyoshi was something _other_ , something beyond human. Kuroko was fairly certain he was human.

He must have been, at the start. And now, like a piece of wood left to the mercy of the elements, he was warped and twisted and tired. So tired. Brought back time after time after time.

And for what?

_Don’t forget._

A ridiculous question. if it was for Kiyoshi’s sake, Kuroko was willing to be brought back as many times as he still wanted him. Until he was unrecognizable, until he was something monstrous.

It was that promise— _I have to come back, for Kiyoshi, I have to be with him—_ that made the tiredness bearable. It never went away. But if Kiyoshi could face all of eternity and it’s terribly beautiful chaos, then Kuroko could do this one thing for him. He would stay with him, as long as he could, as many times as he needed him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes Kuroko woke up crying. Kiyoshi was always there and it was easy to fall into his embrace, easy to find comfort in him.

Kuroko just wished he knew why, so he could make it stop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kiyoshi was always anxious when it rained.

“Just stay home,” he said, hugging him from behind. His lips found a spot on Kuroko’s neck that made him shiver and strongly consider it. A day spent sharing languorous touches sounded more appealing, in that moment, than slogging through the rain to bend over a canvas for hours.

“I have work,” Kuroko said, letting himself linger in his touch.

“You don’t have to. I have enough money for us both. Enough for forever.”

“I don’t need forever.” Kuroko gently pulled away. “And I _like_ working.”

Kiyoshi’s eyes were focused, not on Kuroko, but on the relentless drizzle of rain outside.

“Be careful,” he begged, forlorn.

“You know I will be.” _I’m not you, after all. I’m easy to break._ Even though he didn’t say it, Kiyoshi could sense the unspoken words. He surged forward, pressing Kuroko to the door and kissing him like was desperate, intent on devouring him whole.

If it was Kiyoshi, Kuroko didn’t mind.

“Be careful,” he repeated, more sternly, pulling Kuroko’s rain jacket straight. “Be careful and come home to me.”

Kuroko let out a shaky breath, grabbing a fistful of Kiyoshi’s shirt when he made to pull away and dragged him down. He latched onto the sensitive pulse point on his neck, marveling as always at how Kiyoshi trembled against him, clutching at him for balance.

They would have fallen, probably, if not for the door.

“I’ll be fine, Kiyoshi,” he promised, when he pulled away. The mark he left wouldn’t linger for long; it would be gone in a few hours, at most. Immortal. Untouchable. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Kiyoshi smiled, but Kuroko could feel his eyes watching him from the windows as he walked down the street, headed towards the city.

Kuroko let the rain fall on his head until a few drops made their cold path down his neck. If he got sick, Kiyoshi would never let him out of his sight again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His art studio was quiet except for the sound of his brush and the rain pattering down. Kuroko had put on music, earlier, but it had only set him on edge.

He was hopelessly distracted today, unable to focus on the piece before him. The colors were too soft when his mind was full of fire.

The fire was a sudden thought, having come to him during his walk to the studio. When he thought about it too hard, it slipped away from him, but if he only glanced at it, it was vivid and burning like it would never go out.

It frightened him, with its familiarity.

Memory or dream or both—he could not tell.

With a sigh, Kuroko reached for his sketchbook and began again, thinking of the words Kiyoshi had read to him, his mind dancing around the edges of the fire, trying to remember, trying to catch without really catching it.

He didn’t remember falling asleep until the sound of his phone woke him up.

“Hello?”

“ _Kuroko._ ”

“Kiyoshi.” Kuroko sat up from where he had slumped over his sketchbook, wincing at how his back ached. He looked out the window and found the world to be grey and dark, the rain pounding down harder than before.

“You didn’t come home.”

“I fell asleep.” When Kiyoshi didn’t respond, Kuroko rubbed at his eyes, feeding his guilt to the fire that felt closer than before, more tangible. More willing to let him look at it. “I’m sorry. Is it late? I’ll come back right now.”

“Did you dream?” he asked, voice soft and anxious.

Kuroko closed his eyes. The sound of Kiyoshi’s breathing on the other end felt very close, and combined with the sound of the rain, made him wonder if he was really awake at all.

“Yes.”

Of the fire, the fire, the fire.

“I’ll come get you.”

“Kiyoshi, I’m fine—”

“Please. Just wait in the studio. Promise me.”

Kuroko promised when he heard the concern in his voice, even though now that he was awake, all he wanted to do was leave and go home. But he could wait. Kiyoshi had all of forever, and Kuroko had pieces of it.

It was enough.

He looked down at the open pages of his sketchbook. He had no memory of any of the drawings, but he recognized the subject.

With a shiver, Kuroko closed it, shoving it into his bag without ceremony. He waited for Kiyoshi right by the door, suddenly afraid of being alone even in this small and peaceful a space.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Immortality did not mean much of anything, Kuroko thought. Forever was too abstract an idea to fully accept.

He didn’t want forever.

He wanted this—the warm safety of being in Kiyoshi’s arms, the way they fit together, _just so_ , the feeling of being cherished. Kiyoshi’s smile, the way their fingers threaded together, Kiyoshi’s laughter, Kiyoshi’s skin soft on his own, Kiyoshi’s words—sly and sweet, by turns—Kiyoshi, _Kiyoshi—_

He had never asked Kiyoshi if he loved him. It was too blunt, maybe, or just too simple a word for two people who were bound so inextricably.

When you had forever, even just pieces of forever, perhaps love did not mean much of anything either.

Kuroko didn’t mind. He scooted back until he felt Kiyoshi’s shoulderblades and spine press against his own, shifting with every breath.

As long as he could have this, he didn’t mind. Even if Kiyoshi were to ask _him_ if he loved him, Kuroko wasn’t sure what he would say. He would say yes, because it was true. He might say no, because it was also true, because love was not enough, not all-encompassing enough, not all-consuming enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He dreamed of nothing but fire for days until he decided it was better to not sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I thought you didn’t drink coffee.” Kiyoshi snagged the cup out of his hands and took a drink before handing it back. Kuroko pretended not to see the worry in his gaze and offered a smile in return.

“I think it’s starting to grow on me.”

It startled a laugh out of him. “You always say that, Kuroko.”

They kissed, and Kuroko knew that he would always prefer his coffee the way it tasted on Kiyoshi’s breath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blindsided. 

He hated that word, Kuroko decided. He stared up into the falling rain, only very distantly aware of the cold concrete beneath his body, of the cold leeching into his bones as sirens wailed in the distance, as the driver sobbed and begged for his forgiveness.

_I’m already gone,_ he wanted to tell them both, but he was saving his breath for something more important.

Kiyoshi’s footsteps were easy to recognize, Kiyoshi’s hands on his face, Kiyoshi’s devastated expression.

It was all familiar.

“I told you to be careful,” Kiyoshi said tremulously. He was crying. His face was wet from the rain, but Kuroko knew he was crying.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He coughed, and it ached, but it was far away. “I’ll try to be better, next time.”

Kiyoshi bent his head, kissing him even though Kuroko knew he could only taste like blood and the shadows creeping over his eyes.

“You’d be perfect if you stopped leaving me,” he whispered.

“I’ll be back.” Kuroko felt very assured of that.

“You will. I promise you will. I’m not letting you go that easily.”

The ocean parted with a great crash of salty spray, the waves a distant roar and Kuroko remembered—could feel it in his chest, beating in time with Kiyoshi’s own heart, letting him linger, letting him come back time after time after—

Kiyoshi felt like home because Kiyoshi was as much a part of him as his bones, his breath, his blood—

Immortality didn’t mean much of anything if you were alone, if you couldn’t share it. Even just a small piece of it.

_“It’s only you,”_ Kiyoshi had said. Of course.

“Kiyoshi, I’m sorry. For making you wait so many times.”

“I have forever.” He was holding Kuroko’s hand, but Kuroko couldn’t feel it. Now that he could remember, now that he knew, everything was slipping away so fast. “I’ll find you.”

“Maybe I’ll find you first this time.”

His laugh was wavering. “Willing to bet on it?”

“Our life,” Kuroko murmured, his lungs weak. Tired, so tired. “I’ll bet.”

“Don’t forget—” he heard Kiyoshi begin, but Kuroko was gone, he was the fire

_the fire the fire and ashes_

but he knew the last word, could taste it on his lips, both bitter and sweet

“—me.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote up while trying to muddle through some plot points for another fic, so it's much more freeform than my usual style. Written up in a few hours, so very unedited.


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